


Tread, lightly

by zuzusexytiems



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, M/M, Pining, THEY'RE THE BEST DADS, YUURI AND VICTOR ARE GOOD DADS, Yuri Plisetsky character development, Yuri on Ice Secret Santa 2018, Yuri!!! on Ice Secret Santa 2018, Yuri's pining for Beka and it shows, like who are y'all foolin' son.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 06:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17401457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzusexytiems/pseuds/zuzusexytiems
Summary: Victor and Yuuri are disgusting, and there’s nothing that anyone could ever do or say that would warrant even the slightest change in Yuri Plistetsky’s mind.Not even someone like Otabek Altin.





	Tread, lightly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notoriouslyrad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notoriouslyrad/gifts).



> A little study on Yuri Plisestky's dynamic with Victor and Yuuri, and how it all ties together as his relationship with Otabek develops. 
> 
> More importantly, this is gift for Shyv/notoriouslyrad for Yuri on Ice Secret Santa 2018! They mentioned being into Victuuri and Otayuri among other tropes. Shyv, I'm sorry if I couldn't squeeze in those other tropes you mentioned for now, so I guess you could say I still owe you another fic in the future! In any case, I had a ton of fun writing this, although I do have to apologize that this was published later than I expected because real life can be a byotch sometimes :( I hope you'll still enjoy this though, and that you had a spectacular holiday season! :)

* * *

 

Victor and Yuuri are _disgusting,_ and there’s nothing that anyone could ever do or say that would warrant even the _slightest_ change in Yuri Plistetsky’s mind.

 

Not even someone like Otabek Altin.

 

They’re sitting by the bleachers having the same argument all over again: _Victor and Yuuri are disgusting. They’re the absolute worst. I want to barf in my mouth every time they turn up at the rink. And for the last time, no, they aren’t my dads, Beka,_ Yura insists.

 

 _Well,_ Beka throws back his usual response, shrugging: _I don’t think they’re all that bad_.

 

Yura likes to think he’s grown a little more confident in knowing the intricacies of Otabek Altin; how there’s a spark in his eyes sometimes despite his stone-cold demeanor, and how that spark is almost impossible to miss if you were anyone else but Yuri Plisetsky. Today, while they’re having the same argument for the umpteenth time, Beka actually has the gall to show off a _smirk_ (how _dare_ he) that sends a million butterflies dancing across Yura’s stomach.

 

It isn’t fair, because it's only Beka’s first week visiting St. Petersburg, and already with each day that passes, the butterflies get harder and harder to ignore. He’s also more stunning in the leather jacket he’s wearing today more than Yura would ever care to admit.

 

There’s a blush now, creeping up Yura’s cheeks. He’s trying to will it away, he knows it, but at the same time, he doesn’t know why he’s even trying to the first place, because the smirk is making it impossible. The jacket is making it impossible. _Beka_ is making it impossible.

 

“I think you love Yuuri and Victor,” Beka says simply, scoffing and bringing Yura’s attention back from its Beka-driven daze. “You love them, and you know it.”

 

And at those words, Yuri Plisetsky  _wants_ to feel scandalized.

 

He stares back at Beka, who’s now eyeing the two older skaters from his periphery. The smirk’s still there, taunting Yura, and it scares him for a split second: both because “ _You love them and you know it”_ is something he’s never liked to admit to himself, and also because there’s no one else in the world who knows him better than Otabek Altin. When Beka says something like “ _you love them and you know it,”_ there’s probably no worming himself out of that truth.

 

“I’d love them even more if they went to _get a fucking room,_ ” Yuri tries, and from the other side of the rink, Vitya and Yuuri wave, like they knew what Yura’s words truly stood for:

 

_“You love them and you know it.”_

 

Maybe that’s true. Maybe that’s what the words really mean.

 

But deep within the trenches of his mind, in a place he’s still afraid to reach, Yuri Plisetsky isn’t comfortable enough to admit that to himself just yet.

 

For now, he’s content with him and Beka interlocking their fingers together as they sit by the rinkside-- it doesn’t mean anything, he says to himself-- and he’s thankful that Beka’s seems to have left the age-old _Victuuri_ argument at that.

 

Later, when he takes the chance to put his arm around Beka’s shoulder as they go to grab lunch, Yura notices the butterflies dancing around his stomach start to grow more and more erratic, and before he knows it there’s a frenzy inside of him so wild that he almost forgets how to breathe.

 

If this feeling keeps on, he knows he’ll probably lose what little dignity he has left in him.

 

But then, he decides, if it’s Otabek Altin he loses it to, then maybe, just _maybe_ , he doesn’t mind.

 

——

 

He’s 19 when Beka finally asks him out.

 

They’re having dinner someplace _proper_ , somewhere Beka would never have asked him to if it were any other occasion. He knows it’s coming, and when it does, Yuri stumbles, words coming out in stutters, breathing coming in fast. He tries to ignore the cold sweat that starts to bead across his forehead, ignores how his fingers are shaking as he tries to get words out instead.

 

There are none.

 

Instead, he runs.

 

——

 

In the days to follow, both Yuuri and Victor notice something amiss with him. For one, the sudden decrease of insults becomes nothing short of alarming, and by the end of the week, they start spewing out profound I-love-yous to each other on purpose, for the entire rink to hear, just to rile Yura up:  “I love you to the moon and back, Yuuri.” “I love you to the moon and back and back again.” “I love you to _Uranus_ and back.”

 

It doesn’t work.

 

There are other attempts, too, all of them futile: by the third day, Victor starts printing out selfies of him and Yuuri and shoving them into Yura’s locker. Yuuri, on the other hand, decides to bake Yura little cookies shaped like kittens (or at least he tries to).

 

But when Victor finds the print-outs neatly placed by Yura’s locker (and not torn into shreds like he’d expected them to be), and when Yuuri’s cookies remain untouched by the end of the day (they were matcha-frosted, Yura’s favorite), their worry escalates into near-panic.

 

By Friday, the silence only stretches further, and with that, so do Yuuri and Victor’s concern. They have a feeling that it’s at home that Yura’s silence departs, and that’s exactly where it does. Yura muffles his sobs, tears staining his pillows because what if he royally messes this thing with Beka up? He locks his phone in his bottom drawer, turns off all his ringtones, all his alerts, because he just can’t do this right now, or maybe ever, because _this is too good for him, this is too good for him. He doesn’t deserve him._

 

——

 

It’s on the following Monday when Victor and Yuuri decide to put their foot down, because Yura comes in the rink crying without even bothering to hide it.

 

He’s running straight towards the two of them now, breaks down all of the walls he’s built up against the world, comes crashing down in almost every sense of the word. _He hates me, he hates me, he hates me_ , he says, over and over again. But because Yuuri and Victor know him, they know not to speak-- only hold Yura close, allow him to stain their shirts with tears and a multitude of frustrations and regret.

 

And all the while, there are words boring into the back of Yura’s mind, words he thinks he isn’t so afraid to embrace anymore:

 

_You love them, and you know it._

 

_——_

  
They step out of the rink to visit a nearby Haagen Dasz during lunch.

 

Yura finishes three bowls of matcha pistachio in record time, but still hasn’t uttered a single word. All things considered, though, Yuuri and Victor are just glad he’s stopped crying, and Yura feels his heart grow a little bit; he knows they’re waiting for him to say what he wants to, but knows there isn’t the slightest trace of pressure in the air. They will wait when he’s comfortable enough to let them in, and this is exactly why Yura lets them.

 

It takes a while but the words come out eventually, and Yuuri and Victor are unsurprised when Yura mumbles, barely a whisper as he plays with the strings of his hoodie: _I think I’ve just ruined everything,_ he says.

 

Yura thinks that the wonderful thing about Victor and Yuuri are that _they_ know that _Yura_ knows they don’t need any context behind the words. And he realizes that’s the thing about love: In whatever form it may take, there are a million ways to show it-- awful selfie print-outs shoved into lockers, subpar homemade matcha cookies. Trips to ice cream parlors when everything around you is crashing down; the absence of words thoughtfully replaced by a tight embrace that says, _We are here._

 

It’s almost sundown when he’s finally okay, and the three of them know they’re going to get an earful from Yakov for it. Yura doesn’t mind, though, and he’s hoping Yuuri and Victor don’t either. Victor laughs when Yura voices this out.

 

“We love you, Yura,” he simply says. Next to him, Yuuri finally bills out the 10 bowls of ice cream they’d devoured in their almost half-day stay, apologizes to the shopkeeper profusely.

 

“Hey,” Yura says as they’re walking back to the rink. He’s blushing from embarrassment this time, but he needs to let this out, needs to let them know, because he _does_ :

 

“I love you guys.”

 

And suddenly, they’re back; at the words, Victor is suddenly squealing at the top of his lungs, garnering looks from St. Petersburg’s folk and passersby. Yuuri looks like he’s just seen a video of a thousand puppies running across a beach, and Yura _knew_ it would eventually come to this if he says the words, but he finds he doesn’t regret it as much as he thought he would.

 

“Stop making it _weird_ , you hags!” he tries to whine, but feels himself suppressing a smile instead.

 

“Solnyshko, Yurotchka _loves_ us!”

 

“Could you say it again, Yurio? For prosperity.”

 

“We aren’t any taking videos, Yura! We promise!”

Yura rolls his eyes, but he gives it to them anyway, because in this terrifying world of uncertainty and doubt, it’s the least he can do for two people who he knows are _here_ , who always will be.

 

“I love you guys.” He says, and he makes sure it’s loud and clear, each syllable ringing even as he sighs in defeat.

 

And together, they sing back: " _Y_ _ou know it.”_

 

This time, Yura can’t find it in him to protest.

 

——

 

He’s 22, and he and Beka are back at the rinkside, fingers intertwined as they watch one Sachi Katsuki-Nikiforov attempt to glide on the ice for the very first time. Behind her, her fathers are trailing cautiously, an interesting mix of terror and pride in their expressions as Sachi wobbles, but keeps her balance successfully.

 

“Victor and Yuuri are disgusting,” Yura scoffs, but this time, he smiles.

 

Beka laughs, and there’s that smirk again, the one that sends a million butterflies dancing across Yura's stomach. “Well,” Beka says, bringing up their age-old argument for the umpteenth time. “I don’t think they’re all that bad.”

 

Yura pretends to contemplate, putting his fingers up his chin as he sees Victor and Yuuri pick Sachi up, twirling her across the air.

 

"Yeah," Yura finally says, leaning in to place a kiss on Beka’s forehead. “Maybe they aren't.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> So ngl I worked really hard on this so comments and feedback would be so so so appreciated ; u ;


End file.
